Dave's Feed and Seed

!!! It's our fourth of july spooktacular !!! 

In this episode, a group of friends go on an all-American vacation! They experience nature, rednecks, guns, and of course, fireworks!

Transcript

You couldn’t have been more excited to move back to the city. Sure, the beauty of the country was nice and all, but you missed civilization. You missed the grocery store being just down the road, rather than an hour away. You missed having more than two restaurants to go to when you didn’t feel like cooking. You missed the ability to be left alone when you didn’t feel like catching up with every single person you saw in town. But of course, being back in a house in the city, you traded all those comforts for the few things you’d loved about the country. You missed the silence, the forest, and most of all the animals. Back home you’d had deer, elk, bears and foxes all wandering through your yard. Here you had pigeons, raccoons, and of course, the dreaded Canadian geese, which you saw so seldom in this crowded place that you actually began to enjoy them. Anytime you spotted a bird or squirrel outside your window you found yourself slightly contented, but still missing the unpredictability of the wilderness. Then one morning you realize that the city and nature are not as separate as you’d thought. You hear a commotion outside, drawing closer. There’s a helicopter in the sky, and voices murmuring as more and more people go outside and marvel at something. Without putting on a shirt or even opening your blinds to see what it is, you decide to step out onto your porch, you don’t want to be left out. Your neighbors are all still blinking away sleep or holding cups of coffee, as they watch the commotion draw closer. Lumbering through the middle of the road, gracing your city with its presence for the first time in decades is: The Podcast Inside Your House.

I found and killed Dave at a gas station in the middle of the desert. He was working behind the counter, sporting a new mustache, sunglasses, and a name tag that read Randy, but I recognized him the second our eyes met. He was slower to place me, which gave me enough time to jump the counter and beat him to the shotgun stashed away behind it. I shot him once in the shoulder as we struggled, then again in the head when he was on the ground. I think I heard someone screaming in the store, but by the time I left, they’d fled. 

When I got in my car, I called the babysitter to tell her I’d be home a few days early, and I pulled out a number I’d kept in my wallet for the last ten years. The original piece of paper it had been written on had crumbled, and another after that before I got it laminated. After that it stayed right behind my driver's license. I drove carefully, going the speed limit until I got out of town, and called the number. 

“Yes?” a familiar voice answered on the other end. 

“Dave’s dead, I’m leaving.” Then I gave her the address. Though I’m sure his corpse will have been collected by the time she gets there, or gets her people there. 

When I went home to pick up my little girl, Lila, she had questions. But I told her to ask them after she packed up and we were on the road. I’m typing this up in an old motel somewhere in the middle of nowhere while we wait for new passports, birth certificates, and all the other papers that will let us start over somewhere else. Lila’s getting a new first name, and I told her what mine used to be, back when she was just a baby. 

Anyway, before I disappear again, I wanted to tell someone why I left, both this time and the time before. The cat's out of the bag anyway, I’m sure there were cameras at the gas station. And well, if anything happens to me, I’d like to have my story out there, so that anyone else who’s seen what I’ve seen might not feel so alone. 

It all started nearly a decade ago. Me and my husband John had just brought Lila home. She was almost a year old when we adopted her, but there were still many sleepless nights, and time to ourselves was scarce. We thought we’d cancel our yearly vacation, but my parents insisted that they wanted a week to spend with Lila, and that we deserved a break. 

I wanted to go somewhere relaxing, preferably on a beach, but John had other ideas. For a while, he’d been talking about going to visit the town he grew up in, Lexington (not that one, and it’s a fake name anyway). He hadn’t been back since he came out in college, and now that we had a kid, he wanted to know if it had become the kind of place he might want to take Lila someday.  

He always described it fondly, as a charming town near the foothills of Appalachia. He’d tell me about the long summers he spent exploring the forest, and weekends spent drinking around bonfires. It was a place where people were friendly, everyone went to church, and you would be rude to turn down an invitation from your neighbor to stop by for dinner. 

Now, I’m more of a city boy, so I always pictured it more as something from Deliverance or Wrong Turn. But if he wanted to go back, I’d happily go with him. My best friend Olivia, and her husband Noah agreed to tag along too. We vacationed together a lot back in those days. Olivia would put up with the relaxing ones for me, and I’d put up with grueling backpacking trips for her, so this seemed like a good compromise. We’d stay in a hotel, but we’d do plenty of outdoorsy things too. 

Olivia was the kind of person who was happiest when she was covered in dirt and sweat, and outside of cell reception in the middle of nowhere. God I miss her. 

Lexington was only two hours away, at the edge of the state we lived in. John drove the whole way, while the others napped in the backseat. As we got closer he pointed out the little landmarks he remembered: a water tower shaped like a pumpkin, a billboard reminding us that Hell is Real, and as we got closer, an old barn he used to smoke in. 

I felt myself relax a bit as John talked. I didn’t love the forest the way he did, and I was sure that by the end of this trip I’d be sick of it, but it sure was beautiful. We passed through rolling hills, charming towns, and deep endless swaths of trees. 

We ended up on gravel just a few minutes after the Lexington exit, and the bumpy road woke the others up. 

“I can already hear banjos,” Olivia said. She was digging around in her backpack for her camera.

“Oh, just wait until we get into town,” John replied.

And he was right, Lexington did not disappoint. When we started passing the outskirts, half the houses were either deserted or just severely neglected. One old woman on her front porch stood up to watch us pass, giving us a hard stare. 

The forest was omnipresent, no less beautiful in town but made more sinister by the proximity of the worn-down houses nearby. I remember feeling uneasy looking into the treeline, as if we were being watched, like I was worried the residents who’d abandoned the houses had simply picked up and moved into the forest.

When we got into the downtown area, if you could call it that, it was even worse. Grocery stores and restaurants were boarded up, with just a few local diners sporting cars in the parking lots. 

“This isn’t how I remember it,” John muttered. He pointed to a boarded-up store and said, “That used to be Sal’s, not a dollar store. He’d been running that store since my parents were kids”.

“How long has it been since you’ve been back again?” Noah asked.

“Like, jeez… about nine years now” 

“It was still Sal’s when you left?” Noah asked, “That place went downhill fast.” 

“Yeah..” John replied, uneasy, “Do you guys mind if we drive around town for a bit, just get a lay of the land?” 

“Yep, please do,” Olivia said, snapping one last shot of what used to be Sal’s 

We drove past the bank and town hall, looking still inhabited at least, but only saw one or two people walking around. Just a few blocks away was the nice part of town, or at least what used to be. 

“I don’t understand how it went downhill this fast.” John slowed down a bit, when he noticed Olivia straining to get a good angle on a particularly scary-looking house. He was always good about that, just being very aware of the people around him. If you were upset, or having a bad day, there was no hiding it from him, and he’d change his whole day around to make you feel better. 

Anyway, the house was all windows with a wraparound porch, but the paint was peeling, and one window was taped over. It was shitty, but possibly still inhabited. Much of the rich part of town was like that, and there were a good handful of places that I would have thought were deserted long ago if it wasn’t for a light on in a window or a sad kid playing on the front lawn.

We stopped by a gas station on the way out of town. We were staying closer to the state forest thank god, and it was exactly as unnerving as the rest of the town. John filled up the tank while me and Olivia went in for beer. When we got up to the counter, Olivia grabbed a pack of smokes and the clerk gave us a look not unlike the old woman had outside of town; distrustful, and vaguely threatening. He didn’t want us there.

“Where are you folks from?” He asked, not yet ringing up the beer.

“I’m from up north, but my— Uh, my friend grew up around here. We’re here visiting with him.”

The clerk looked surprised, and I gestured out to John. 

“Really? When was the last time he was back here?”

“Almost ten years”

The clerk rang us up, then leaned over. “Will you tell him something for me? Tell him this place isn’t what it used to be- “ He glanced around quickly “It’s not safe, like it used to be, you folks would be better off staying somewhere out of town.”

I paid in cash, and he handed me my change. Olivia was silent, observing. “I’ll tell him. Thank you for the advice-” I stuck out my hand.

“Jerry,” He said, and gave me a firm handshake. Olivia nodded at him.

When I climbed in the car, we told John and Noah about what had happened. And I know we should have taken it more seriously, but, I thought it was clear what the clerk, had meant. It was obvious the town was on its way out, opioids were rampant in this part of the country, so of course, a half-abandoned, drug-infested town would be dangerous. But Noah was a cop, and Olivia was in the reserves, and they’d brought their guns, so we felt like we could handle whatever danger there was. 

Our hotel was on the outskirts of town, just a few miles from the state park. It was a new establishment, and when we booked it, John was shocked that they’d put up an actual hotel in town. It was just a block away from the local church, which John had attended every Sunday except for when he was deathly ill growing up. 

The church was looking a bit worse for the wear, and Olivia asked if we could pop in for some pictures. John reluctantly agreed. 

The front door had “KEEP OUT” painted over it in red, but it was unlocked and even cracked open, so we dismissed the warning. We all spread out, exploring and trying to keep out of Olivia’s camera line.

The inside was at the level of decay that one would expect for such a place, but something about it looked unnatural. The widows were all smashed in, and near them, the decay looked organic. There was water damage, and bits of plants starting to creep in, but closer to the center, things looked almost systematic. 

“The pews didn’t used to be painted like that, they were oak,” John said. I walked back to him, and studied the flaking paint. It looked like they’d been painted lead green, and then white for some reason, but the white coating was sloppy. It was almost like they were painted to purposely give the illusion of rapid decay. 

“These holes, they’re all from an axe or something.” Noah said, “Like one guy just went crazy in here.” 

I looked around and realized that’s what had looked so fake about it. The damage done to the pews, and the walls was all intentional and uniform, like one person with one weapon had done all of it. Then something less uniform caught my eye up at the front. Near a crucifix, hidden behind Jesus’s head, was the blinking light of a camera. 

“Guys, camera,” I pointed, “let’s go.” 

We all hurried out and back to the car, nervously looking behind us even on the road. Only when we checked in did we finally relax, and after our long drive, we decided to just order room service and stay in. The hotel had been booked up, maybe because it was Independence Day weekend, so we were all sharing one room like a bunch of college kids. 

I could tell John wanted to stay up late and talk, that he was uneasy, but Olivia and Noah were out almost as soon as we finished up dinner, so he tabled his thoughts. He tossed and turned until I fell asleep to the sound of sporadic fireworks from people who couldn’t wait an extra day. 

We started the next morning with what John had said was going to be the easiest hike of the trip, and though it was short, the incline was grueling enough that it took us into the early afternoon. When we got to the overlook at the top, though, and looked out over the endless foothills, I remember thinking that maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad after all. 

It was when we went into town again that I started to get nervous. We were looking for the town veterinarian, one of the few people that John still tried to visit every time he found himself back home. His family, the ones he still talked to anyway, had all left, as had all of his childhood friends. So the only people he really kept up with were loose acquaintances at best. 

John was sure that the vet’s office had been on the corner of Main and Sage Street, but there was just an old run-down Feed store on the corner, and the buildings next to it were all abandoned. 

The Feed store, Dave’s Feed and Seed, looked like it had to have been several decades old, so I didn’t see any way it could have been a recent conversion. The paint on the outside was peeling, the part of the sign with ‘Seed’ was crooked and looked liable to fall at any minute. The windows were warped with heat and age. 

John was sure he was remembering right, though, so we parked. I noted some shockingly expensive cars in the lot, but figured Independence Day accounted for it. That the sons and daughters who’d left Lexington to make something of themselves may have succeeded, and were back visiting their families. 

Inside, the store was busy. All of the patrons stopped what they were doing to see who was walking in, like something out of a damn western movie. John wasn’t fazed, though, so I assumed it was a small-town thing. 

The inside of the store was red brick and smelled like farm animals. Me, Noah, and Olivia wandered around while John went looking for the owner. We made asinine jokes about the name of the store as we looked at the aforementioned Feed and Seed. I remember Olivia saying “Well it would be rude if he’d Seed you without Feeding.” And Noah chiming in with “He has to Feed you first so you have the strength for the Seedings.” 

Across the store, I saw John roll his eyes at us as he listened to one of the locals talk. I realized we should stop being such city people and went over to help. 

“Yeah, they left all the equipment and cages and such when they closed up.” The man John was talking to said. I got a closer look at him and couldn't help but feel that he looked fake in the same way that parts of the town looked fake. Something about his beard looked too well-groomed, and didn’t quite match his hair. His eyes were also electric blue, but they looked kind of flat, almost like they were contacts. Perhaps the strangest thing about him was that he was wearing a chain necklace that looked like a dog collar, a bold fashion choice that people normally wouldn’t approve of out here. The man continued, “I kept all of it, of course, you never know when a good cage will come in handy.” With that, he winked at John. I resisted the urge to grab John’s hand, we were trying to lay low out in the country. 

John gave a laugh as fake as the man’s beard and said, “Well, thank you for your time, but we’ve got to get going.” 

I waited until we got in the car to ask John what the fuck that was about, and he told us the guy was a nutjob. “He said he’d been running that store for thirty years, which is bullshit, I visited Dr. Jensen last time I was here.” He told Noah and Olivia what the man, Dave himself, had said about the cages, and they lost it. 

Olivia nudged me and said, “He’s trying to seed your man, watch out.”

After that, we meandered until it got dark. When nightfall hit, we went to a little park near the middle of town to watch fireworks, and we all had a little too much to drink. There were only a few dozen other spectators, and many of them seemed to be tourists. There were a lot of out-of-place businessmen, many with varying European accents, and I marveled at the fact that people coming here from another country would choose Lexington of all places to visit. John scanned the crowd looking for familiar faces but came up empty, so we found a spot in the grass and laid down. 

Though I’d sternly told John that there would be no PDA this far from civilization, I relented a few beers deep. Noah and Olivia cozied up to each other, and I held John’s hand under the fireworks. I still remember the feeling of his warm hand in the cool grass. I’m glad we had that last night together. 

Back at the hotel, we drank a little more and though John warned half-heartedly that we had a long hike the next day, I think he knew we might not be up for it, at least not first thing. We stayed up late and listened to John talk about how something wasn’t right with the town, how it was like decades had passed since he’d been gone. We assured him that there were some things he was probably just remembering wrong, or that the opioid epidemic had probably just hit the town hard. But he didn’t want to hear it. 

I remember him saying, “It’s like we’re in a parallel universe or something. I know what I remember.”

I don’t remember when I fell asleep. I don’t remember if we kissed, or said a proper goodnight, or even an “I love you.” I hope we did. 

The next morning, John was gone. Cell reception was poor to non-existent in the whole town, so he’d left a note saying, “Going on a hike to clear my head.” He’d left our trail map out with a little Post-it on a spot that looked about half a mile off a nearby trail. He’d told us all about the caves and waterfalls he wanted to show us off the beaten path, so I figured he was checking one of those out. 

Hungover, we all went to get breakfast without him, then drove around town. I took the wheel so Olivia could get her pictures and Noah could nap in the back. The town was still deserted, and the whole time we drove around, we only passed one other car actively driving. When I started to get creeped out, I took us back to the hotel. 

We waited until the early afternoon before we knew something was wrong, and I suggested we follow the trail John had gone on. But Noah shut that down. Vacation Noah was long gone, and he was all business. He said, “We are absolutely not going off trail, and getting lost ourselves. We should call the sheriff's office or the ranger station.” 

We tried the sheriff's office first, since the part of the forest John had been in wasn’t technically part of the park. Noah listened to the line ring for what felt like forever, but when he tried to report John missing, the man on the other end told him that he had to wait 48 hours to make a report. Noah hung up. 

“That’s not a real thing,” he said. “That’s like, a TV thing, you can report someone missing right away.” He looked puzzled, but decided to call the rangers' station. He listened to someone pick up on the other end, then hung up without saying a word. 

“It’s the same voice,” he said. Then, “I guess we’re going hiking.” 

On the way there, Noah drove, and I know he didn’t mean to freak us out, but he monologued on and on about police corruption in small towns, and how sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands, and I wondered if he wasn't overreacting a little bit. That is, until we got to the forest entrance and found a sheriff's car idling at the gate. We drove past slowly, just in case he wanted us to stop, but he just waved us on and flashed a big smile. One that made me feel the opposite of how a smile is supposed to make one feel. 

“That was creepy as fuck right?” Olivia asked.

Noah responded, “Load our guns, babe.”

They both had a handgun and offered me the shotgun they’d brought, but I declined, so Olivia palmed the shotgun and hid her handgun in her boot, then said, “Just in case.”

We stopped at the parking lot closest to the trail and decided to retrace John’s steps. Of course, it was always possible something had happened on his walk to the park, but daylight was dwindling, and we had to do something, 

I still remember vividly how beautiful that hike was. It was a perfect sunny day, and the wind was blowing just enough to cool us down. The weather seemed all wrong for what we’d geared up for. Surely something bad couldn't have happened on such a perfect day? 

It was two miles out to where John had ventured off trail, and as we walked, we all convinced each other that we were overreacting. We vowed to make a proper report with the sheriff or rangers if we didn’t find John holed up somewhere with a twisted ankle. 

When we started going off-trail, it was easy enough to guess where he’d gone because a series of game trails went out to the spot he’d marked. Our destination was closer than it looked on the map, and we lucked out because it was perhaps the most easily findable spot of the ones John wanted to show us. It was a big rock tower, made up of some kind of crumbling orange stone. It was just tall enough that if you climbed to the top, you could see above the treeline. I remember John telling me that’s what we'd do when we visited, and me telling him we were too old for that. 

I was planning my route up when I noticed something, it had almost blended in with the rock but it was a few shades darker. On the stone, still wet, was a bloody handprint. 

I got Noah and Olivia to attention, and we all went silent. 

“I’m climbing up,” I told them. 

There were well-worn handholds carved into the rock, and as I climbed up, it crumbled even more. I didn’t really expect to find John at the top, but I had to look. 

I made it up, and John was not there, but there were traces of blood splattered across the top of the small plateau. I stood up, towering above the trees, and looked out at the rolling green hills. I studied the forest around us, looking for something. I felt like if I stared hard enough, it would tell me what had happened, but the sea of green gave up no secrets. I was just about to climb back down when I heard Olivia talking. 

“He’s further up the trail, we split up.” Her voice sounded strange, very loud, and stressed. 

I laid down on the rock top and peered below. Olivia and Noah were hands up, and facing the man from the store the day before, Dave, who held them at gunpoint. 

“Move back.” He told them, and they backed away from the guns they’d set on the ground. He scooped them up, and told them, “March.” 

I waited just a few breaths, then started climbing down. When I hit the ground, they were almost out of sight, and though I could hear them talking, the forest muffled their words. I heard Olivia yell once again, wordless this time, followed by crashing leaves and twigs. Then I heard Dave yell, “Get up, move!”

Following as close as I dared, I hit the spot where Olivia had made a show of falling, and found the handgun she’d shoved out of her boot. 

After just a few minutes, Dave and my friends arrived at a cabin. I expected it to be run-down, falling apart, the kind of place where bad things like this happen, but it was brand new. There were huge windows, and the logs were pristine, almost fake-looking. 

I heard voices inside, so I decided to wait a minute, figuring I could get a clear shot through the windows. 

Once the door closed, I crept up and peered inside. I couldn’t see Dave or my friends, but there were four men in the living room. Three were admiring a selection of guns on the wall, while the fourth browsed through a book on the coffee table. As casually as if it were a phone book, he flipped through pictures of people, blurry and taken from a distance. 

Heart pumping now, I moved around to the back of the house and looked into an empty bedroom. There was another man digging through a closet filled entirely with flannels. 

The next window brought me to the kitchen, and inside I spotted my friends and Dave. Olivia and Noah were both sitting in chairs flush against one wall, hands behind their backs, while Dave talked. I leaned in to hear what he was saying. 

“Really it’s gonna be a whole pain in my ass now. They know they’re not supposed to just bag whoever, but ugh, you can't tell these rich people anything. They’re all spoiled.” Then he leaned in close to Olivia and said, “Don’t worry though darling, for gals I’ve usually got buyers who want something else, if you catch my drift.” 

He pointed at Noah, “This guy though, well shoot, we’re short for the cookout tonight, so sorry fella.” 

With that, he leaned over to a nearby counter and picked up a meat cleaver. I raised my gun, and just as I was about to fire, a voice behind me yelled out, “Hey!”

I whipped around, and a man in a crisp flannel was behind me, reaching for the gun on his belt. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He asked me, and his accent betrayed that he was not local.

Without hesitation, I shot him. 

Dazed, I stepped over to make sure he was dead, and only when my ears started ringing did I hear Olivia screaming. 

My legs felt like lead as I moved over to the window. Inside, I noticed three things all at once. Olivia was crying, I’d never seen that before, Dave was gone, and Noah’s head was on the floor. His body twitched as the blood ran out of him, as if it didn’t yet know it was dead. 

I smashed through the window. Desperate, I picked up the freshly bloodied meat cleaver on the ground to cut the ropes holding Olivia. I gave her the gun; she was the better shot, and she calmed, almost eerily fast. She had a mission to do. 

She stormed into the house, and it was over in seconds; no one had had the time or the training to start shooting before Olivia got to them. When she yelled for me to come out, she handed me a gun and told me to double-check the house. I did so on autopilot, while she stayed in the living room with the four men I’d spotted earlier, all of whom were alive, and two of whom had been shot in the hands. As I walked, I spotted the man in the bedroom, no longer a threat becasue he’d been shot in the head. In the room I hadn’t been able to peer into, I saw something that made my blood run even colder than it already was. There were rows of dog kennels. They were all empty, but recent stains in various colors told me that that wasn't always the case. 

I told Olivia what I’d found, and she said. “Let’s lock them up.”

I helped her herd the men into the cage room while they all tried to bribe us with varying obscene amounts of money. On Olivia’s order, I locked them up one by one, while she held her gun at the ready. Then we walked through the house, just long enough to search more thoroughly for any sign of John. 

In the room with the flannels, we found grease pencils, the kind actors use to blacken their teeth, and banged up shoes. There were even a few banjos laying around. 

In the living room, we found brochures that were vague, but horrifying in context. There was one for something in the desert called The Roswell Experience. One had a picture of a snowy cabin and was called simply Cabin Fever. Another had a picture of a cornfield, and was labeled Midwest Madness. Inside each were vague descriptions of the food and exercise available with each experience. 

In the kitchen, we found a fridge well stocked with meat, and we both knew what kind it was. If there had been any doubt at all about what had happened to John, it was erased when I found a keepsake bowl full of wedding rings. I was ready to dig through them, but I spotted his right at the top and grabbed it. 

It’s strange, I don’t think I really started mourning him then because my body was in survival mode. It was trying to figure out how to get out of this alive, and make sure that the men who killed my husband didn’t kill anyone else. It was like I’d been in a car crash, but my body knew it had to block the pain until I could crawl away from the burning rubble. 

“I have an idea,” Olivia said. I remember her voice being eerily calm when she said that. 

“Okay.” I said, “Whatever you want to do.” 

She went to the kitchen, cranked up the burners, and started grabbing anything flammable to leave around the house. I helped her, and soon the flames were high enough that we had to step outside. The sun had set in the short time we’d spent in the cabin. 

The men inside started screaming, and it was music to our ears. When the ammo inside started exploding, I worried about he noise. But soon I spotted fireworks back in town, from people who had extras to use up, and I knew we’d be alright. 

We watched our own private fireworks show until the screams stopped. 

We reported the fire anonymously, not sure what to tell the police. After all, we’d burned four men alive, and those men might have been very powerful. We waited for something in the news or calls from police about finding our husbands' burnt remains, but no calls ever came, and no news stories ever aired. 

Olivia helped me get all the documents needed to start a new life, and I lost touch with her after that. She told me only ever to call her in an emergency. I don’t think she ever really forgave me for failing to save Noah. 

I talked with her once, at her brother's funeral years later, and she was a completely different person. She made a living doing things she couldn't talk about, and she had an air of danger about her that was impossible to ignore. Sometimes I feel like I miss her even more than John, that it’s harder to mourn someone who’s still alive but just gone from your life, than someone who’s actually dead. 

The only other time I spoke with her was when I called her to let her know I’d killed Dave. 

I often wonder about why I was able to go back to a normal life and Olivia wasn't. Maybe it’s because I didn’t see John die the way she’d seen Noah get killed. Maybe it’s because I had a child to go back to, something I had to focus on, for at least a little while. Or maybe it’s just how we’re built, and she was made for war. 

Anyway, the shady person Olivia has sent to bring us our papers will be here any minute, so I should wrap this up. I hope that whoever is reading this story thinks about it on those long road trips. When you pull into a gas station in a little town you’ve never heard of and you look around and feel like something is not quite right, listen to your gut. Get out while you still can. 

Thank you for tuning in to this episode of the podcast inside your house! To hear every tale of terror as they are released, subscribe to our show on your podcast app or on Youtube or follow us on Facebook and Bluesky. Until Next Time: When you next find yourself homesick, keep in mind that being sick of home is only one word away.